


Quiet Please

by Edwardina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, M/M, PWP, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-28
Updated: 2009-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: Sam masturbates Dean through his jeans in a public place, and then makes Dean sit there in his messy pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Please

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the blindfold_spn kink meme. Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/blindfold_spn/1037.html?thread=1312013#t1312013).

The library makes Dean want to sneeze. Doesn't matter what library. Doesn't matter what books. They all just smell musty and make his nose itch. The big one on stones and all their exact meanings and all that trivial shit witches and other spell-workers get off on that Sam's got open in front of him is making Dean's nose itch like crazy. He sniffs and wipes it and nearly gets a pen mark on his face.

"Got jack squat. Paper's clean as a whistle," he tells Sam, and tosses it to the side.

It takes Sam a moment to pull his head out from the sea of boringness that is his book and answer him distractedly.

"'Kay. I'm almost done."

Dean eyes the book a little closer. Oh my God, a book about _rocks_ can hold his baby brother's attentions like a porno. He settles his elbows on the table they're both crammed side-by-side up against and crosses his arms conversationally, smirking.

"So is this, uh, relevant to the case, or just stuff you're stockpiling in the spank bank?"

At that, Sam's eyes flicker up at him, and he blinks at Dean with a vague annoyance.

"What do you think?"

Oh, it's too easy. "I think that a book about rocks ain't gonna help you get your rocks off."

"Dean! Jeez, this is a library, have a little respect," Sam whispers, though he barely keeps it down when he's pissed. "There are kids having storytime with Miss Stacy over there."

Yeah, he noticed that, and hell, maybe he'd tune in for a little storytime himself if Miss Stacy actually resembled a miss. Still, Sam has a point. This library is clearly the only one in the the town, and all the poor schmucks who don't have air conditioning or the internet are here soaking it in, from the smattering of rugrats sitting on carpet squares in the children's section listening to some book about frogs and toads to their tired-looking moms plundering the romance shelves to bookworms like Sam doing reports and research for summer classes all trying to sit by themselves at the tables provided. There's even a group of old guys in hats Bobby would wear doing the crossword or something.

Dean makes a face, then startles as Sam lands a big ol' hand on his knee.

"Quit it," Sam orders under his breath. "Just sit tight for five minutes, Dean. Do the freakin' crossword puzzle or something."

"No, thanks," Dean says, but Sam squeezes his knee hard, so Dean gives up and pulls the newspaper across the table to him again and picks up his pen.

"Good," Sam says softly, with that stupid smugness he picked up at Stanford, and _rubs_ his knee, thumb following the seam on the inside of Dean's thigh happily. It feels kinda awesome, and the newspaper blurs out for a second in front of Dean's eyes. Then he abruptly remembers the old guys and their crosswords, the kids in the corner and the librarian at her desk not that far away, and knocks his knee into Sam's sharply.

_Hey. Stop it._

But Sam's nose is back in his book, and he even interestedly turns the page even as he slides his hand up the inside of Dean's leg and tucks it - ugh, okay, tucks it firmly against Dean's crotch, his palm fucking huge and warm. Dean stiffens from the knee up, spine and dick both coming to abrupt attention, and oh, God, this has to be a bad idea. It's not like there's tablecloths in this joint. Anyone could look over at any time and see Dean grabbed by the balls by another guy, and even though they wouldn't see his brother, they'd still see Sam - taller than him. Bigger than him. In charge of him. And Dean knows Sam is his brother. A dull, hot fucking flush burns at his face, his ears, spills down his neck and races into his dick, and Sammy just strokes it harder, palm following the lengthening line of it caught uncomfortably in his jeans.

"Sam -" he starts in a tense whisper, but Sam cuts him right off.

"Shh."

Dean's teeth dig into his lower lip, and for a second, he looks around wildly, then drops his eyelids and his chin, not knowing what else to do. If he kicked up a ruckus, it'd only make people look over to see what the big deal was, and the librarian would probably come over and ask them to leave, and she'd see a perv with a hard-on who keeps glancing over at storytime. Plus, then Sam would stop, and the insistent friction, the way Sam's ginormous hand can handle his entire dick at once and is just doing so casually, petting him like a dog while he reads a book, is the most heart-poundingly arousing thing Dean's felt in forever.

He opens his knees a little wider and hazards a low-lidded glance beside him, and doesn't miss the way Sam dimples up. Tries not to breathe too hard or too loud so the high school girl at the table across from theirs doesn't glance up from her note-taking. Feels like he can't fucking move and like his muscles are all straining hard on their own, wanting to come because Sam clearly wants him to come. Tries so hard to hold it back, only to have his balls clench up tight trying to make him shoot his wad right into his jeans.

"C'mon," Sam whispers to him, nearly inaudible under Miss Stacy's storytime, and - Dean stops trying not to cream himself and just does it, prick pulsing around his wad and filling his jeans, Sam's hand practically milking him and draining him, every wet hot wad soaking the denim and making it stick to his skin and slide, slow and slimy.

He likes to think he's pretty quiet. Stealthy. Shit like that.

But the grip Sam gets on his knee makes him realize he's huffing too hard and he holds his breath, gentling and suffering under Sam's hold on him.

A good two minutes pass with Dean just sitting in his own jizz, trying to look like he's doing the crossword, and Sam's hand just keeps him there.

"Can we go," Dean finally whispers.

"Five minutes," Sam returns softly, firmly. "Do the crossword puzzle."

Sam, he thinks, his dick throbbing still. A three-letter word for "naughty librarian."


End file.
